


10: Present Progressive

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Series: 0-10-20 [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Community: wordsontongue, Drunkenness, F/M, M/M, Present Tense, Reunions, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-17
Updated: 2009-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly, the most important thing for Sean is to keep holding on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	10: Present Progressive

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the second of three interconnected ficlets written for [](http://wordsontongue.livejournal.com/profile)[**wordsontongue**](http://wordsontongue.livejournal.com/)'s 2009 Flash Fiction Roulette. The first story is _[0: Simple Past](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/422287.html)_ , and the third, _[20: Future Perfect](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/426905.html)_. While linked and spaced over ten year increments, each ficlet can be comfortably read as a standalone narrative as well. (Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/wordsontongue/13034.html).)

Sean hears the familiar giggle -- that of a naughty young boy up well-past his bedtime, and with mischief on his mind -- only a split second before the prickle of hot breath against the back of his neck. But it is enough to reassure him that the arms snaking around his middle, wrinkling his suit jacket all to hell, belong to someone he knows, and knows well.

"Viggo!" He turns in Viggo's arms, already anticipating, already _beaming_ at the grin plastered across Viggo's face. A face already showing the signs of being plastered: slightly bloodshot eyes, unfocussed gaze, flushed cheeks and reddening nose; two sheets down, and another half at the ready to recklessly throw to the wind.

Viggo doesn't so much say his name as slur it, but even so, the sound fills Sean with warmth. The kiss that follows is a bit of a surprise, but the sloppy enthusiasm of it, the taste of oak and pepper, tobacco and herbs, is entirely Viggo, and entirely welcome. He can hear Gina's soft sigh behind him, but as he slips his arms around Viggo's back, tugging him closer, tighter, he finds he just doesn't care. The world narrows down to Viggo's mouth on his own, the slight tease of his tongue, a friendly gesture hinting at how much more than friends they used to be.

Maybe still are.

"Been looking for you. All over." Viggo sounds breathless, but whether from the drink or the kiss or the way his words tumble over each other in their haste to get out, Sean doesn't know. "When I asked they said you were 'round back, but I didn't know which back, and then I ran into a bar, and had to share a couple shots with it to apologize." Another giggle slips out, and this time the sound is all nervousness. "Do you think I should've written a speech? I should've. Something about icons and lifetime achievements and... and whiskey. But I didn't know what to say, except for this scrap about the sun on my tongue inside my skull and how 'alone' feels like 'stone', except when it's a rock."

Sean finds himself laughing; there's no help for it, and even as he disentangles words and arms and turns back around to let Gina into their world, he finds he doesn't, can't, _won't_ let go of Viggo, not when his arm fits so snugly around Viggo's waist, his hand so comfortably at Viggo's hip.

"You've met Gina, haven't you?" Even as Viggo grins and nods, an old memory comes back in a rush: the hissing-whispering-snickering mumbles that carried the both of them back up the last few feet to his door, barely beating gravity by leaning against each other, keeping bodies upright long enough to collapse into the warm brightness of the hall, bowled over by food and drink, laughter and friendship. The look on Gina's face as she leaned over the two of them the next morning, nudging Viggo with her foot not a moment before she asked, "Who's this?" It explains the narrowing of her eyes in the now, the twitching in one corner that doesn't match her welcoming smile as she takes Viggo's hand, endures having her hand kissed.

Viggo smacks his lips as he lets her fingers go, unbending his back only to lean more heavily into Sean. "Sorry I missed your wedding, but _somebody_ didn't invite me. Bet you were a beautiful bride." He beams at Sean, attention already wandering. "Can't think of a person in the world who wouldn't slip into a white dress for you."

Gina can't hide the rolling of her eyes, and honestly, Sean can't blame her; he'd roll his too if he wasn't fairly certain Viggo'd hop into something frilly and veiled if challenged, just for the hell of it. So instead he pounds Viggo on the back, hard enough to make the other man sputter slightly, letting his hand linger afterward in one long stroke over cloth and muscle.

And here comes a woman with an Empire-issued nametag, a clipboard in hand and Viggo in her sights, and Sean knows that the first of many partings is only a hair's breadth away. He's tired of saying goodbye; he knows this just as suddenly as he knows he's tired of hailing taxis and driving away from airports, ending phone calls and finishing letters. That he's weighed down by a decade's worth of comings and goings, and in this moment, this space in time, he's going to hold on, and tight.

Even if it means losing hold of everything else.

Viggo and Gina are to be herded to the front of the auditorium, Sean to the back, each a tiny puzzle piece that must be clicked into place before the Awards can begin. But before Sean is swept away on Official Presenter Business, Viggo hugs him close, forcing the breath right out of him.

"After-- Afterward. ...After, we'll get together, right? Tonight? Tomorrow, maybe?" Viggo squeezes him impossibly tighter, not one sliver of artifice disguising the hope in his voice. Sean suspects it's not simple friendship that drives Viggo's question, not with his ribs cracking under the force of it, not with Viggo's breath hot against his cheek, not with the tiniest tremble that runs through Viggo's body even as Sean hugs him back.

"Of course we will." Of course. There is no other ending to this story but for the two of them to lurch forward twined together, past to present to future and on. No ending at all. The knowledge of that makes Sean grin, the lightning-bright _clarity_ of it, the way it crackles in the air and seems to jump to Viggo, grin echoed and answered with a chuckle that hitches and rolls into a giggling, gurgling, delightful mess of sound.

The giggle is infectious, and Sean can feel it bubbling up inside, threatening to burst the whole world wide open on the strength of his own joy. There is the now, and for once, for future, for always, there will be a later.


End file.
